


your sins don't end with tears

by anodyneAvian



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Immortality, Mention of Animal Death, POV Multiple, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding, Xerxes | Cselkcess, or at least an attempt at it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneAvian/pseuds/anodyneAvian
Summary: “Tell me,” Ling began, voice deadly serious. His gaze was piercing, as though looking into Edward’s very soul. “How many people do you have inside of you?”--------Edward was born earlier, to a much younger Hohenheim. Even with a much different start to life, one thing still holds true: he loves Alphonse more than anything, even if his beloved brother does stupid things like run off and join the military at age 11.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 193





	your sins don't end with tears

**Author's Note:**

> So. This beast was born from an idea I had a few years ago that I've been thinking about writing for awhile. Recently, my friends and I all streamed all of FMAB together during quarantine, and I was inspired to finally put pen to paper. 
> 
> Of course, I decided to only do some of my original idea, wanting it to be shorter and less ambitious. Despite this limitation I set on myself, I still wrote about 25k+. Whoops. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this regardless. It's so weird to write these characters for the first time since I first read FMA 12 years ago. 
> 
> Also, this is a bit different from what I usually do, a lot more dialog heavy, so I hope it's good! Also the pre-slash thing is because my friend and I decided if I do anymore of this, Al/Ling will be canon.

_“Where are we going?”_

_“To see my mechanic.”_

Major Armstrong took the jobs assigned to him seriously. Despite what people said about him—and he knew they said a lot—he considered himself a very serious man. Perhaps _too_ serious—which led people to see him as the opposite.

 _Regardless_ , he believed in doing all his duties with the finesse only an Armstrong could bring. This included tasks many would consider beneath him, such as accompanying the young Alphonse Elric— famous Fullmetal Alchemist and youngest state certified alchemist in history—to his hometown in the east. 

Going with a child to a sleepy little farming village was not particularly glorious, but Armstrong was more than happy to do it. Alphonse was a good kid. He was a good kid who had a tough life that led him to break the ultimate taboo, but it didn’t show. Soft spoken, kind, intelligent… but still a child. So—Armstrong was more than happy to take time out of his schedule to ensure that Scar didn’t go after the child again, especially with his automail arm out of commission after their last encounter. 

Armstrong wasn’t sure what to think regarding Scar. He could understand the hatred towards state alchemists—he had been there in Ishval after all. It still haunted him, what he had done, his inability to help—but he couldn’t condone attacking a child who had no part in the war. 

But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was ensuring Alphonse made it to his mechanic safe and sound, and got his arm repaired. Or rather, replaced, since there wasn’t much left to fix. Alphonse had been kind enough to share anecdotes about Resembool on their train ride from East City, so Armstrong was pretty sure he had a good idea of what to expect.

Life always had a funny way of throwing expectations out the window.

“Alphonse! You really should call, you know?” Winry cried, huffing at him from her balcony, the white paint peeling off the railing she lounged against. 

“Sorry,” Alphonse replied, face sheepish. He rubbed at the back of his head; his hair looked like molten gold in the afternoon light.

Armstrong watched the exchange curiously. Young Alphonse _had_ mentioned the mechanic was a childhood friend, but he still hadn’t been expecting such a young girl—perhaps only a year or two older than him.

After a moment, all tension left Winry as she relaxed against the balcony. She smiled, tilting her head. “Welcome home.”  
  
“Thanks, Winry!” Alphonse called, a grin on his face as he gave her an easy wave.

Pinako sighed from the porch, taking a drag of her pipe. “Two more visitors on such short notice… Winry’s right, you two really ought to call—or visit more often.”  
  
“More visitors?” Armstrong said. He glanced down at Alphonse with a curious gaze.

“Ah!” Alphonse began. “Does that mean—”

“Hey! Alphonse!” No sooner had those words reached Armstrong’s ears was there a mass of colours heading straight for his young charge.

Armstrong instinctively prepared himself for a fight. Laughter coming from Alphonse—and this new mystery person—soon snapped him out of it. _Of course._ It was just a familiar face. This place was safe. But it was hard not to be cautious, even if it wasn’t his nature to be distrustful.  
  
Alphonse was nonplussed as he was dragged into a bear hug by this new man—no, now that Alex could see him better, Armstrong could tell he was barely older than Alphonse himself—and spun around.

The laughter from the two was music. The teenager stopped to soak in Alphonse’s honey-sweet smile. “It’s been so long, I think—WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARM?!” 

“Brother!” Alphonse squeaked, as he was unceremoniously dropped onto the dirt. _Brother?_ Armstrong thought back for a moment. Alphonse had mentioned his family, briefly, but Armstrong had assumed all of them were out of the picture from the way he spoke. 

Looking closely, Armstrong could see the resemblance now: the same golden hair, though different lengths, the same golden eyes, and the same sun-kissed skin. 

“Of course,” Winry said, coming up beside them. She must have made the trek down during the chaos. “Why else would _either_ of you even show up if you didn’t break anything? I don’t get why you’re so surprised, Ed, since you do the same thing. All. The. Time.” She poked the boy’s back to punctuate each word. 

Alphonse’s brother—Ed, likely short for Edward—gave his own sheepish look. “Hey, at least this time it was a minor issue and not my entire arm being gone?” he tried, putting up his hands defensively. Sunlight gleamed off his metal right hand—like the left arm his little brother once had.

Had Edward lost his limb to human transmutation, too? _Those poor boys…._

“No one’s told me what happened yet,” Edward said, folding his arms. He gave Alphonse an _‘I’m your older brother so you better explain’_ look. Armstrong shivered; his sister was very good at that look.

Alphonse rose to his feet, dusting his jacket off. “Accident,” he said, but he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Alphonse was an honest kid, after all. Lying did not come to him naturally. 

“What kind of accident destroys an entire metal arm like that?” Edward retorted, before shaking his head. “What _ever_. Welcome home, Al, I missed you.”  
  
“I missed you too,” Alphonse replied, tone warm. He moved to hug his brother again, only for Edward to let out what could only be called a squawk.

“Al… no. Betrayed by my only brother, how could you?” Edward cried, turning away from Alphonse, a dramatic look of anguish on his face. 

“Huh?” Alphonse just blinked, clearly as lost as Armstrong felt.

Winry let out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I think he just noticed Al is taller than him now. He’s got a complex about being short,” she said to the Major. On second glance, he could see it—Alphonse was ever so _slightly_ taller than Edward, by no more than two centimetres. Ah. _Siblings_. Armstrong himself could remember all the drama about heights among his various sisters and himself, when they were younger.  
  
“I’m not short!” Edward yelled, tugging at his braid. “I am a perfectly normal height; you people are all just giants! Especially him!” Edward spun around, pointing dramatically at Armstrong. “Who even _is_ he?”

“Oh! Right, this is Major Armstrong from Central,” Alphonse explained. “He just came along to make sure I got here safe and sound, since I can’t use alchemy easily with one hand.”

Armstrong bowed his head towards Winry and Edward. He hoped he looked polite enough; his size tended to come off as intimidating.

“Oh,” Edward replied, his tone ice cold. “I see.”  
  


A stifling silence settled over them, a stark contrast to the easy conversation from before. Armstrong felt like he said something very wrong despite barely having said a word. 

Pinako broke their wordless stand-off. “Right. We should head inside and assess the damage.” 

“Three days to fix your arm… Miss Winry’s quite impressive,” Armstrong said, sitting awkwardly on a too-small couch. Alphonse hummed in acknowledgement, slipping his shirt back on. 

“She is. I feel bad for getting it so thoroughly broken, though. She and Granny already put so much work… At least I can pay them well,” Alphonse replied. 

He sat down beside Armstrong, flesh and blood hand tapping at his leg. “Sorry about my brother, earlier. You didn’t do anything wrong, he just doesn’t like the military,” he explained. 

Armstrong blinked. “It’s quite alright, young Alphonse. I can understand that sentiment.” He paused. “Perhaps it’s not my place to ask, but how does he feel about you, then?” 

Alphonse chewed on his lip. “...He was mad. Real mad,” he began. “He tried to physically throw the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye out of the house when we first met. He really didn’t want me to join and I know… I understand many of his reasons, but I… I thought I could use it to help people. With the resources and everything. I mean, originally, I wanted to get my arm back but… y’know, it’s not easy but I’m so used to automail I don’t really care about that anymore. So, I just want to research how to help people and how to stop stuff like what—” his voice cracked, “what happened to Nina.”

Armstrong nodded; he had nothing to add, but he wanted to make sure Alphonse knew he was listening. That he cared.

“Though, I feel real stupid for yelling about wanting my arm back to my brother, since he’s been missing two limbs since forever, and he’s even better at alchemy than I am,” Alphonse finished, slumping against the couch. 

“Oh?” Armstrong replied. “Did he not… lose his limbs the same way you did?”

“No,” Alphonse said, shaking his head. “He’s had automail since I was a baby. He said it was something that happened when he was very young, and it’s why his mom died too.”

“ _His_ mother? You two… do not share a mother?” 

“Oh, right,” Alphonse laughed. “I people don’t realise, since we both take after our father, but brother and I are technically half siblings. We have different mothers, but he grew up with mine too. Granny says the reason they moved to Resembool was for brother’s automail.”

“I see,” Armstrong said. “I suppose him being an alchemist isn’t a surprise, did he teach you?”

“Some. Well, a lot, actually, but we also worked under an alchemy teacher in the south as well, for awhile,” Alphonse explained. “Brother’s real smart with alchemy, but he said that it was always good to learn from as many people as you could, because everyone has their own way of seeing the world, their own approach to things—and that learning and trying to understand those can make you better at basically anything, but especially alchemy!”

Armstrong smiled at Alphonse’s enthusiasm. It was so easy to forget and see the boy as any normal child, and not the human weapon the military would one day force him to be. There were times Armstrong hated his country, but he often pretended he didn’t feel that way. It was easier. 

“I see. Your brother is very wise. I’m glad you still have some family in your life, Alphonse,” Armstrong said, standing up. “Now if you excuse me, I promised Ms. Pinako I would chop firewood before dinner.”

“I’m glad the boys have someone like you in their lives, Ms. Pinako,” Armstrong was saying. He studied the photos pinned in front of him. It was clear the Rockbells had been, well, a rock for the Elrics. 

“Yeah, well, their old man Hohenheim was an old drinking pal of mine, and Ed needed some good automail, so it worked out that way. They’re good kids,” she explained, exhaling smoke.

“They are,” Armstrong said, as Alphonse walked into the room. He and Edward had gone to visit their mother’s grave, about an hour prior. Edward must have gone to do something else, however, since Alphonse was alone, petting Den. 

(Armstrong noted that the dog seemed to disappear whenever Edward was around. She seemed very friendly, so he wasn’t sure why she seemed to avoid just Ed.)

“How old is Edward?” The Major asked, glancing over at Alphonse.

Alphonse paused, stopping his trek towards the guest room to think. He hummed in thinking. Odd. Shouldn’t his own brother’s age be easy to remember? “.... twenty something? Maybe?” 

“Twenty?” Armstrong echoed. Edward didn’t look a day over 18, at _best._

“I _think_ ,” Alphonse said. “I… I don’t quite know, he never really said and I never… thought to ask, I guess?” There was a look on Alphonse’s face, reflective of the one he wore when they visited Dr. Marcoh earlier in the week. A serious, quizzical look that aged the boy several years in an instant. “...it is weird that he’s never mentioned it, now that I think about it. Granny?”

Pinako was silent for a moment before she answered. “I’m not sure either. I just know Ed is youthful for his age,” she said, leaving it at that as she made her way upstairs. Likely to check on Winry—the mechanic had almost worked through dinner already.

Armstrong frowned. _Odd._ Perhaps the boy’s birthday hadn’t been properly recorded; rare now, but not unheard of. He turned back towards the photos, watching Alphonse approach him from the corner of his eye. 

Armstrong’s attention, however, was grabbed by a specific photo. “Alphonse,” he asked, “how old are you in this?” He tapped it gently. 

The photograph depicted Edward and a younger Alphonse playing with a young Winry in the lush summer grass. Edward, however, looked the same as he had when Armstrong met the boy not even a day ago.

“...nine, I think? It was before… before I tried to bring mom back,” Alphonse said, but his serious face had returned in full force. He had noticed it too, then. How Edward—who, by Alphonse’s estimate, would have been 15 in the photo—hadn’t age a day since. Though being 15 matched up with Edward’s looks better, in Armstrong’s opinion.

Alphonse hungrily studied the other photographs, before his eyes landed on a half-hidden family portrait. 

Armstrong found himself drawn to it as well. His eyes fell on the kind face of the woman he assumed was Alphonse’s mother—even just looking at her he could understand the desire to have her back. In her hands was Alphonse, not even a year old yet. A man was covered up by another photo—Alphonse’s father, this mysterious Hohenheim the boy admittedly knew little about.

And beside Hohenheim—Edward. By Alphonse’s estimate—and just plain logic—the boy ought to be no older than 5 years old. Yet, there Edward was, the same youthful face, the same height, only differing in a lack of long hair. Smiling. Looking exactly like the teenager he appeared now.

That was alarming. And Armstrong was not sure _what_ was even going on.

Alphonse’s eyes were wide. “I… I can’t believe I never noticed,” he said. “I guess I just thought… when I was little, he seemed so old because I was so young and now… I thought just my perception of age had changed so he seemed younger. I… But… how?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he is merely older than we thought and just has a hormone issue? It would explain his height concerns,” Armstrong suggested, but a part of him wasn’t sure if he believed his own words. After all, if that was the case, why didn’t they know Edward’s age still? 

“Maybe… He’s always been so secretive about stuff to protect me, I hate it,” Alphonse murmured, shaking his head for a moment. He sighed as he turned around, looking lost in thought as he made his way back to his room.

Armstrong stayed where he was, still staring at the photographs. Regardless of what was going on, it seemed obvious just looking at them that Edward loved Alphonse more than anything. Had practically raised him. Armstrong felt bad for prying like that, perhaps stirring up something Edward was ashamed of, but he was a nosy person by nature. 

He just hoped he hadn’t caused anything that could lead to the brothers fighting.

“You’re up early, brother,” Alphonse said as he hefted up his suitcase. Armstrong had offered to take care of it himself, but Alphonse had insisted. He wanted to get used to using his new automail arm anyways, he said.

“I was doing some thinking, and well... Would you mind if I tagged along with you to Central?” Edward explained, motioning to his own suitcase. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been there, _and_ awhile since we’ve travelled together, so…” 

“Of course!” Alphonse chirped.

“We’d be happy to have you along, dear Elric,” Armstrong said, ignoring the dry ‘right’ he elicited from Edward. 

“It’ll be great having you along! You can help me with these notes I’m looking for, and you can meet Hughes and Gracia and—” Edward just laughed, as Alphonse enthusiastically talked to him about Central. Armstrong was glad; Alphonse had been awfully gloomy (and with good reason) since everything had gone down with Tucker and Scar. 

It was nice seeing him in high hopes once more. Even if it meant dealing with his odd brother who seemed to hate him. It didn’t matter, though; Armstrong knew he had a way of getting into people’s hearts. 

They headed to the train station after goodbyes with Pinako and Winry. Perhaps things were finally looking up for the Elrics. Alphonse seemed especially excited for whatever Marcoh had waiting in the library.

* * *

“It’s… it burned down?!” Alphonse cried, tugging at his hair. 

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Edward said, seeming rather unbothered. 

“I just, I don’t get it, why is our luck so bad?” Alphonse moaned; his face pressed against the cold glass of the car. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Edward said, shrugging. “That the philosopher's stone stuff is a bust. Why do you want it anyway? I thought you were fine with automail.”

“I am! Now, I mean but… I thought. I want to help people, and I thought with a stone… it would be _perfect_. It could save people who are ill like Mom and—like Nina.” Alphonse sighed, looking over at his brother. His face was sombre now—Alphonse had explained what had happened with the Tuckers and Scar on the train ride to central. Edward had been so angry, hearing about both, though his face on learning Scar was Ishvalan had just been _sad._

“...I mean, maybe there’s another way, it’s not like the stone is anything more than theories and myths, right? The one in Liore was a fake, as we found out, and anyways you could always look into other methods, like alkahestry—”

“It’s not a myth!” Alphonse cut in. “I met a man on the way to Resembool who made one. He showed me, said his notes were in there and now they’re gone!” Alphonse groaned as he leaned against the glass in defeat.

Edward’s face morphed into a look of surprise—and then something darker. “You met someone who made a stone?” he asked. “What did he say about it?”

“Something about it being hellish and I told him I had already seen hell,” Alphonse replied, gripping his automail arm. “Edward?” He glanced over at his brother, who’s expression was _scary_. Once Ed’s eyes met Alphonse’s, the elder’s face softened. 

“Sorry, I just… I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Al, maybe we can find other ways to help people, alright? And find out how to undo chimera transformations just… just in case,” Edward suggested, fiddling with his own automail now.

“Well,” began Maria Ross, one of their two escorts (something Edward had protested. Loudly.), “we do have one option we can try first before giving up.”

“... plus, we’d rather you two didn’t fight!” Danny Brosch added.

“You do?” 

“Thank you, thank you! I was able to get my mother into an amazing hospital thanks to you,” Sheska was saying. 

“It’s not a problem, Sheska. I can’t thank you enough for being able to copy this all down from memory,” Alphonse replied, putting his hands up as the girl kept bowing. “Really.”

“I see… I take it’s more than just a cookbook, huh?” she said. Her eyes ghosted over their notes—which probably looked like gibberish to her.

“Yeah, it’s coded,” Alphonse said, sighing as he grabbed for another book. He already had an ever-growing pile, yet it felt like he was getting nowhere. At this rate he was going to nearly drown in books like Sheska had. 

“Oh, then how’s that going?” Sheska asked, studying the titles laid out in front of him curiously.

The gloomy look on Alphonse told her everything. “Brother has been even less helpful,” he admitted. “Which is odd, he’s usually great with code.” 

“We all have our weaknesses,” Edward said dryly, looking up from his work. “How’s job hunting?”

Her gloomy look told them everything too. 

“Yo!”   
  
Al looked up, surprised to see Lieutenant Colonel Hughes leaning against the doorframe. “I heard you were in town, Alphonse, from the Major. You shoulda given me a call!” The man grinned at Al, waving at him lazily. 

Alphonse gave a definitely-not-nervous-about-being-kidnapped laugh. “Sorry, we’ve been kinda busy ever since we got here,” he explained.

Hughes sighed, running a hand through his hair. All joy seemed to melt from his face. “Yeah, I know what you mean! I’ve been so swamped lately; I haven’t been able to leave the court martial office.” He gave a chuckle, but it was hollow. He waltzed in, dress shoes clacking on the smooth tile floor. “There’s been so many incidents lately, our office has been bustling and of _course_ I’m stuck overseeing all this chaos. And we _still_ haven’t closed the Tucker chimera case…”

Alphonse winced, giving a glance towards Edward. Hughes picked up quickly. “Right,” he said, “sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.” 

Alphonse nodded, moving his eyes back to Hughes. “Well, at least you were able to drop in despite your busy schedule,” he remarked.

Hughes’s grin returned to his face. “Nah, I’m just on my break, to be honest. Thought I’d drop in before I have to go back to work.” He leaned on the table, taking a seat, but paid no mind to the research splayed across it. “Sheesh… it’s bad enough as it is, but now that the first branch burned, I can barely take much more of this.”

“The first branch?” Edward said, finally speaking up, eyeing Hughes curiously.

Hughes barely acknowledged him, continuing. “Yeah, it was close to the court martial office, so we used it to store our records—incident logs, names, that kind of thing. But as you can imagine, the fire has really slowed us down…” 

Edward locked eyes with Alphonse. “Hmmm.” They both turned to stare down Sheska, who had been standing politely in the corner. (Hughes had scared her, a little, with his boisterous personality). 

“Huh?” she started, pointing at herself in confusion. “I mean… I did read the military records there, and I remember them but—”

“Yeah,” Al chirped, turning back towards Hughes. “We’ve been trying to help find Ms. Sheska a job, and she has a photo perfect memory for the things she read, _and_ she used to work for the first branch!”

Hughes himself jolted up. “What? Really—she can do that? Even a little bit of information could really help us out.” He looked to Sheska, both a loss for words for a moment.

“She helped us immensely, I’m sure she could help you,” Edward said, closing the book he had been reading. Any chance of continuing while they had guests was futile.

Hughes clapped his hands together. “Then let’s get that paperwork out of the way right now—oh you’ll get a great salary—” he said, ignoring the _um_ s and _huh_ s from one very confused woman.

Hughes reached over, grabbing Sheska by the scruff of her sweater as he prattled on about the benefits of his office. “Um… you two, thank you so much!” Sheska managed. “I’m going to be more confident in myself and try my hardest! Thank you for everything!”

“Perfect, we can put you to work right away!” Hughes laughed, dragging poor Sheska to the door. What a kidnapper… Alphonse was just glad it wasn’t him this time.

Hughes paused, his gaze falling on Edward like he just noticed he was there. Somehow. Despite having been talking to him. “Huh?” Hughes said, dropping Sheska as he creeped towards Edward. “Wait, who’s _this_?” He leaned against the table, invading Ed’s personal space. 

Edward jerked his face back. “Uh…” Edward began. He flashed Al a pleading look _._

“Oh, this is my older brother, Edward. He more or less raised me after mom died,” Alphonse explained, grabbing for yet another book. A coffin of texts wasn’t the worst way to die, he supposed. “Edward, this is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, from the court martial office. As he’s explained. To you. Not even five minutes ago.” It was amusing really, especially with Edward’s confoundment. He had a very strict idea of what military people were like, Al knew, and that was mostly based on people like Mustang.

“Hi,” Edward said dumbly. 

Hughes grabbed Edwards hand, shaking it excitedly. “Ah! You’re the famous Edward my wife and I have heard so much about then!” 

“Wh-what, really?” Edward replied, glancing between Alphonse and Hughes. 

“Yeah! Al’s mentioned you a few times, and Roy made sure to lament to me about the only time you’ve meet—” 

“Oh, right,” Edward said, grimacing a little. “I was pretty pissed.”

“Right, right. I take it you’re staying with your brother. I can’t imagine military hotel food is too good, come, come, Gracia would love to meet you—” Hughes grabbed Edward by the hood of his jacket. 

“Hey—wait—Al, help!”

“Sorry Ed, I’ll miss you,” Alphonse replied, wiping away fake tears. “Lost to famous master thief Maes Hughes.”

“Heeeeelp!” Edward cried, but it was no use. No one could escape Hughes when he had his mind decided on something. No one.

Hughes just laughed as he dragged both Sheska and Edward out. “You can come too, Alphonse!” he called. 

Alphonse paused, staring at the unfinished work in front of him. Well… maybe a break would be good. He stood up, running after them, leaving Ross and Danny to follow suit despite their own confusion.

“I don’t think we’ve had these many guests in forever,” Gracia laughed, setting the table happily.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to impose, it’s just, we were with the Fullmetal Alchemist and since he came with—” Brosch began.

“Nonsense,” Gracia replied. “Food is better when it’s shared, and the more the merrier.” 

“I told you my wife was the best,” Hughes said, leaning on his hands. 

Gracia just smiled as she handed Ed a plate. “Ah, thank you,” Edward said, his colder demeanor gone with Gracia around. Alphonse was glad; he knew his brother didn’t like the military, but at least he had manners, _sometimes._

“It’s nice to meet you, finally, Edward. Alphonse speaks very often about you,” Gracia continued. 

“I can’t imagine why,” Edward said dryly. “Probably nothing good.”

Hughes laughed, loud enough to nearly startle Elicia. “Oh, definitely a few interesting stories, like your guy’s time in Youswell or that train that got hijacked by those terrorists. But mostly good stuff, honestly.”

Edward gave a sheepish smile, but Al could tell this was feeding into his ego. Typical. Edward took too much pride in his penchant for chaos. 

“You two seem pretty close,” Brosch commented, taking a sip of his water. 

“Well, brother took care of me for most of my life,” Alphonse said, staring at the half-filled water in his glass. “And we’ve always gotten along well.”

“Really?” Gracia asked, looking between the two. 

“Ah… I’m older than I look, actually,” Edward said awkwardly. Alphonse frowned more, remembering the photos. Unchanged after all this time, but how? Was… Was Edward keeping something from him? _Why?_ Alphonse tried hard to be honest with him, yet at every turn Edward always seemed so secretive. 

Except, he supposed, Al hadn’t told Ed that he was going to perform human transmutation. He had wanted it to be a surprise for when it was successful—or that’s what he tried to tell himself, but really, it had been a case of it being easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. 

“I see,” Hughes said, voice feather soft. “That must have been quite the burden on you.”

Edward shook his head. “Never,” he said. “Al’s a good kid. And I had help, from the Rockbells and our teacher. We weren’t ever really alone, even after Mom died and Dad left.”

“Of course,” Hughes said. “Well, you’re always welcome here, alright?” 

“Ah—I don’t really want to be any trouble—"

“Nonsense! We all could use the company, and I think Elicia really likes you two.”

“Braid?” Elicia asked, pointing at Edward’s hair, then hers. 

Edward blinked at her, before smiling. “Of course, I can braid your hair, after we eat.”

Alphonse couldn’t stop from smiling either; it was nice to see his brother happy and interacting with other people. Edward had once had a bad habit of holding himself up in their childhood home, only really interacting with his family and the Rockbells. Edward was a lot like Hohenheim had been, from what few memories Alphonse could reference. It was nice, seeing his brother break out of his shell. 

Still. Despite the jovial atmosphere, Al couldn’t shake the idea that something was going on with Edward. But what? He hadn’t really changed that much over the years, so it wasn’t like Al was dealing with a stranger.

 _But_. That was the _problem._ Edward didn’t really seem to change, even while the world around him did.

“What’s with that look, Al?” Edward asked. The sun was setting now, washing Central in warm oranges and golds. The drive back to the hotel had been silent, but serene. Until Edward had ruined it, anyways. 

“You liked them, didn’t you?” Alphonse replied, a coy smile on his face. 

“Huh? I mean, they were nice and gave us food but what does that have to—” Edward lifted his head off his hand, his elbow still resting against the window of the car. 

“Sorry, I just remember you being Mister the-Military-is-Evil-and-Don’t-Trust-Them,” Alphonse explained, waving dismissively. 

“Yeah, well, I still don’t _trust_ the military, Al. Hughes just seems too genuine to dislike, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had skeletons in his closet we didn’t know about,” Edward said, resting his chin on his hand once more. He kept his eyes glued on the streets outside, watching the few people still bustling around in the dying light. 

“You’re such a pessimist,” Alphonse sighed, turning to look out as well.

Edward shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’m just realistic.”

“Dammit!” Alphonse cried, falling to his knees. “Why—why was—all this time—” He was vaguely aware of Ross and Brosch coming into the room, telling them not to fight. Their words reached his ears distorted, moving through the air like it was water.

“We aren’t fighting,” Edward said, his voice cutting clear across the muffled sounds. “We… we figured it out.”

“That’s great—!”

“No! It’s not great! Why would the military even—why would they ever—” Alphonse swore, putting his face into his hands. “This isn’t what I wanted!”

Edward wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Alphonse…” he said softly, gripping his brother’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, you didn’t _know,_ ” Alphonse said, and in his despair, he almost missed the pained look that crossed Edward’s face. What? Brother had been insistent on finding something else to research, but surely, he _hadn’t_ —

“Then what’s… what’s wrong?” Ross asked, kneeling beside them.

“People. The main ingredient for a philosopher’s stone is people,” Alphonse explained, gritting his teeth. “Dammit it all.”

Edward locked eyes with Ross. “It might be best you two forget this ever happened,” he said, voice dark. “Something like this... This type of information. It’s dangerous. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Right…” Ross said. The man gulped. “We will. I promise.”

They didn’t keep that promise. Armstrong had a way of getting to people.

* * *

“Al!” Edward yelled. He _knew_ this was going to happen. Oh ‘I won’t run off to the abandoned laboratory, I promise’—bullshit. This was _his_ brother they were talking about! The soldiers had been content to take Al’s words at face value, but Ed knew his brother well, after all. Neither of them was the best at following rules, even if Al was a _little_ better. 

Al may have been a piss poor liar but having such an innocent and naive reputation made it easier to fool people, apparently. 

Speaking of naivety, how could he foolishly have thought this revelation would make Al give up on the military, or the stone? Al had a stubborn streak. And then they stupidly had to dig into it _more,_ ugh, _great._

Now Al was gone. At least Edward had a good idea of where Alphonse was, if nothing else. He needed to move fast. Alphonse was going to get himself killed, at this rate, and Edward would never forgive himself for it. 

_‘Mom… I’m sorry I’m such a bad brother to Al.’_

Ross and Brosch must have clued into Alphonse’s absence as well, since the two had met him on the way—and insisted he get in their car. 

The drive was tense. No one spoke. He had never been exactly warm with the two before, so he wasn’t expecting any helping hands from them. He appreciated it, though, despite his misgivings. Soldiers, if nothing else, did tend to be reliable and loyal—to a fault.

The fifth laboratory loomed ahead. Edward jumped, not waiting for the car to come to a stop. A quick duck and roll saved him from any broken bones. He ignored their startled cries and rushed towards the front gate. 

It wasn’t tactical but he didn’t see any guards either—though there was barbed wire missing from one of the walls. Alphonse’s doing, most likely. Ugh, why hadn’t Alphonse at least asked him to come with? Was it his insistence to drop the subject of the stone? Usually it was Ed himself getting Al to trespass, so why had Al taken this burden upon himself?

Did Al not trust him, for some reason?

No, he was overthinking this. Alphonse was 14, maybe he was starting his rebellious teen phase. Ed knew what that was like all too well. 

He headed into the gate, tense. There had to be some guards, right? 

Edward’s footing slipped in something wet, sticky. He blanched. It was blood. There was blood pooling in the soil. 

Edward noticed _it_ a few feet ahead of him. A body on the ground; soldier, looked like. Half of his head was missing. Ed felt sick. But this wasn’t Alphonse’s doing, so then who—

“Finally, someone else to chop up! Stay _still_ —!”

Edward jumped. A meat cleaver struck where he had been standing, his assailant swearing as he pulled out of the soft earth. “You’re fast—hey. you look like that other guy—” It was a man, in an odd suit of armour. Definitely not military issued.

(Though if Edward was being honest, it was a sick getup. Suddenly Hohenheim’s interest in vintage armour was making more sense than ever before.)

“So, you saw him—” Edward began. 

“Yeah, and he didn’t even know who I was! And when I was telling him, he slipped past me and went inside! The nerve of him—I’m Barry the Chopper!” the man in the armour continued, waving his hands around wildly. Each movement creaked, as metal scrapped on metal.

“He’s inside, then?” Edward said, turning away from Barry, facing the building directly. It was big—but there was likely a large room for the array.

“Hey! Pay attention to _me_ , the one about to slice you up!” Barry cried.

Edward ran towards Barry, slipping under his swinging arm. Too slow. That armour wasn’t slowing the man down as much as Ed would have expected, but it was _just_ enough to give Ed the advantage.

A quick destruction transmutation would deal with that pesky armour easily—iron was something he was more than familiar with—and then he could incapacitate this Barry the Whatever.

Barry raised his arm, bringing the cleaver down towards Edwards head; Edward made his move, and with a clap of he hands he moved to destroy Barry’s armour—

Two gunshots rang through the air. Barry’s meat cleaver went flying, embedded in the dirt by their feet. Barry had only a half second to stare at the smoking hole in his hand before the second shot sent his helmet flying. 

“Woah—” Brosch said, his gun still trained on Barry. Brosch’s eyes widened with horror. 

“Scared, aren’t you?” Barry said, turning to face them— rather, turning to show the hollow armour, moving all on its own. There, in the centre—the one indication this was anything but a normal object—a transmutation circle etched into metal plating.

“That circle,” Edward breathed. “They transmuted your soul to that armour. That kind of alchemy…” He knew that alchemy. Hohenheim had investigated it, studied all the alchemy involving souls he could. Ed had consumed his notes like a ravenous beast. He could recognize it in his sleep. “You’re one of the prisoners, then, aren’t you? From death row.”

“Ding, ding! So, you have heard of me?”

“No, I’m from a small town,” Edward said, shaking his head. “But I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on and why they have you of all things guarding this place. Now, let me through—I need to save my stupid brother—”

The ground shook. Ed could barely take a step forward as the research lab began to crumble. No, no, _no_ — “Alphonse!” Edward cried, running towards the wreckage. Something kept him from moving. A hand—holding his shoulder in a vice grip. He moved to grab it, to throw them to the ground, only to come face to face with Ross. Her face—the sadness in her eyes, like she somehow knew how Edward felt. _Please._

“Let me go,” Edward begged. “Let me go, I need to save him!” He barely noticed—nor did he particularly care—that Barry had run off. 

Ed wanted to lash out, to fight against Ross’s grip, but the fear, the knowledge that Alphonse could be _dead_ and it was _all his fault_ because he couldn’t just _tell the truth for once in his life_ kept him rooted in place. 

“If you go in now, you’ll be crushed too,” Ross warned, trying to drag Edward away from the rubble. Edward felt like screaming. He wanted to grab the gun from her hand, prove to her he’d be just fine, _anything_ , but he knew it was useless. None of that would help Alphonse. 

“Al—” he began. 

And then from the smoke and dust, a figure—slender and dark. Not Alphonse then—except, there, over his shoulder, that unmistakable golden hair. 

“Alphonse!” Edward cried, before his eyes went wide. That was—

Ross and Alphonse’s rescuer were talking, Edward knew. But the blood was rushing to his ears, drowning out the noise. Edward couldn’t focus on Ross’s words, on what was going on, anything—not even his brother. Not with that blood red serpent staring him down. 

That tattoo… that was one of _his_ children, _his_ homunculi. And _they_ wanted something with Alphonse.

_‘He’s important, you know.’_

Dammit.

This had to do with _that_ , didn’t it?

The homunculus was gone before Edward gathered his thoughts enough to react. Had the homunculi even noticed him? Or cared? He hoped not, lest they say a word about Edward to _him_. Then again, _he_ had never had much connection towards Edward—certainly thought he was intelligent, but only “for” a human—which to _him_ was like praising an especially smart dog.

Ross and Brosch herded him from the destroyed building, saying something about Alphonse needing a doctor. True—Al was bleeding bad, out cold. The swirling anxiety in Edward twisted. Why was he thinking about himself at a time like this? Al needed him. 

“Dammit Al… I really failed you, huh? I tried so hard to keep you out of all of this, and yet… I really am a useless brother.” He scooped Al’s prone form into his arms, burying his face into Al’s hair. “I’m sorry, Alphonse. I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry_.”

* * *

_Don’t trust anyone._

The Fuhrer's words echoed through Alphonse’s head. _Trust_. Who could he trust? There was something going on, something bad, he knew. And the military was involved, but who to tell?

He trusted Winry more than anything, but he didn’t want to see her hurt. Roy and his team were reliable, but could he trust them? Roy wasn’t secretive about his own goals and how he was using Alphonse, even if Al tried to see the best in the man. Hughes and Armstrong were kind, too, but was it worth the risk to their families too?

The obvious choice was brother, but…

He kept thinking back to those photos. To how his brother hated the topic of the philosopher’s stone yet didn’t seem as affected by the truth as he had. About how quiet Edward was when discussing the people he had seen, their tattoos, everything.

He hated the idea of not being able to trust Edward but… despite everything, Alphonse wasn’t completely naive. He could tell that his brother was keeping something from him, and he didn’t like it. 

And of course, the most important thing.

Edward didn’t need a transmutation circle to do alchemy. Like Alphonse and Teacher—and, well, Teacher had said it was because she had seen the truth. Alphonse knew what she meant now: human transmutation. _The_ Truth.

What had Edward _done_? 

Alphonse wondered if Izumi would have any answers; if nothing else, perhaps she could teach him how to save little girls like Nina.

But first—taking Winry to Rush Valley.

“Life is amazing, but if I can live without seeing another birth again, I think I might be okay with it,” Edward groaned. He was practically melting into the stiff wooden chair. His hair was a mess, coming loose from its braid. He looked exhausted— with dark circles under his eyes and everything.

Alphonse was sure he looked just as bad; he was completely boneless from stress. Alphonse managed to work up enough energy to be curious. “You’ve seen a baby delivered before, brother?” 

“Yeah, you, of course, Al,” Edward replied. “Though Dad and I both cried like babies, and mom was crying, and you were too. I think the Rockbells hated us in that moment.” He chuckled at the memory. 

“Oh.” He hadn’t considered it, despite the evidence of Edward being old enough to have seen his birth being obvious. 

Huh.

Dublith hadn’t changed. It had only been a handful of years, but to Alphonse, it felt like an eternity. Coming back to Dublith was like reliving a memory.

That said, Alphonse was glad that Edward had opted to join him to see Teacher. Call him a coward, but Al wasn’t sure he could have faced her alone. Well, honestly, he didn’t think it made a difference. He wasn’t sure they could save each other from her wrath if she found out what Alphonse had done. It was the thought that counted. 

…. hopefully, she wouldn’t learn. Al liked to be optimistic like that. 

“Here we are,” Alphonse announced. He took a deep breath. The shop looked as he remembered; the iron smell in the air brought back memories. So innocent at first glance, but he knew better. He knew better. “Should we knock?”

“Guess so—” Edward began. He didn’t have a chance to raise his hand. The door opened, Sig looming over him, knife in hand. Oh _god_. That man was still terrifying.

“H-hello, mister Sig,” Edward stammered. “Good to see you.” He laughed awkwardly. 

Sig reached out, ignoring the squeak from Ed, to his soft hair. “Hello, Edward. I see you haven’t grown,” he replied. Edward said nothing, for once in his life. 

With a quick comment to Mason to watch the store, Sig led Edward and Alphonse around the side of the building. “How’s Teacher doing?” Alphonse asked. 

“Not so bad considering her condition,” Sig replied, leaning into the open window. “Izumi, the Elrics are here.” 

“Ed and Al?” came her voice, sounding just as Alphonse remembered it. He had missed it, that motherly voice that could be sharp as a knife. 

“Are you feeling well enough?” Sig asked.

“Yes, I’m feeling better today.” A book snapped closed. 

“I guess Teacher was sleeping because she wasn’t feeling well,” Alphonse whispered, shuffling nervously in front of the door. 

“...musta gotten sick again,” Edward murmured. His expression spoke more of intrigue than sympathy (though it was still there, evident in Edward’s eyes). Alphonse thought about how Izumi didn’t need a circle. Were they connected? What had she lost?

He had little time to muse on the subject, his back meeting ground. The force left his ears ringing. Ouch.

“Well,” Izumi Curtis began, stomping out onto the stone. “If it isn’t my idiot students. I hear an awful lot about you two, _especially_ Alphonse, even out here in Dublith.”

Edward swallowed, stock still under the force of Izumi’s glare. “And now you’ve stooped so low as to become a dog of the military, even against your brother's advice. Well? Anything to say?”

Alphonse whimpered. He was so _screwed._

She turned to Edward, who stood even straighter, sweat on his brow. “Ah, Ed… you’ve hardly changed, I see,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand. Edward, mostly in shock, moved to return it—and realised his mistake a moment too late. 

He too found himself flat on his back, laying dazed on the warm cobblestone. “Nice to see you too, teacher,” Edward groaned, deciding it was more than comfortable on the stone.

After Izumi coughed up some blood and one smoother introduction later, they had managed to make it inside to talk to her. Her home was how Al remembered it; nice and homey. He was fond of it. 

“Philosopher’s Stone, huh?” Izumi said. “Why the interest in it?”

“Intellectual curiosity, mostly. But I also think if it’s real, it could really help people,” Alphonse explained. He didn’t miss the look Izumi gave him, likely biting back a comment about how if he wanted to help people, the military _wasn’t_ the way. Izumi and Edward were rather alike, in that regard.

“It mostly seems to be just legend, hmm…” Izumi said, rubbing at her chin. “I’ve never really had much of an interest in it.”

Sig spoke up then; a surprise, as he was a quiet man by nature. “Now that I think of it, didn’t the alchemist on our last trip know a lot about the stone?” Alphonse perked up. A lead? For once, things seemed to be looking good—

Izumi blinked, turning to her husband. “Ah, right! That guy—he called himself Hohenheim.” With that one name, everything came crashing down.

“ _Hohenheim_?” Al repeated. His blood went cold. “What was he like?” 

“Tall, blond hair, glasses and a beard?” Izumi tried, racking her brain for information. “Couldn’t tell how old he was, 30s or 40s maybe? Good looking—” she put her hands up defensively, trying to console her husband as she added, “not as good looking as you, though, dear!” 

“So, he’s alive then….” Alphonse glanced at Edward; his brother’s expression was unreadable. 

Izumi’s face slid into a frown. “You know him?”

“He’s our father,” Edward explained, voice flat. 

“The father that _left_ you all those years ago?” Izumi said, gripping the table. “I see—he might still be in Central—”

Alphonse shook his head. “I… Maybe. I don’t...” His opinion on his father was mixed. He couldn’t hold much of a concrete one, not when the man was all but distant memories in his head, barely a presence. A being that only existed in the earliest of Al’s memories, long since faded and distorted by time. It was hard to tell how much of what he remembered was truly fact and how much had been affected by his continued absence, leaving the man as nothing but a mysterious figure in his mind. A ghost. “I don’t know if he’s the best person to go to.”

Edward did not speak, as much of a ghost as Hohenheim. He always got silent whenever their father was brought up. Alphonse had a feeling why: hatred, probably. A grudge. The one real memory Al had of Ed and their father together was them fighting—or rather, Edward yelling, with Hohenheim replying in that cool voice of his. He couldn’t remember the words, just the tones. But it was enough.

Edward, too, was basically unchanged in his memories; the only difference was he had grown his hair out, though Edward had commented about having his hair long before coming to Resembool, so even _that_ was not really new.

Izumi didn’t press. Alphonse appreciated that about her, and Sig. They were good people; so good, too good to them, and Alphonse hated how much he viewed them as second parents—they hadn’t asked for it, after all. 

“Did… did he say anything else to you? Much at all, about the stone, anything?” Alphonse asked.

Izumi hummed in thought. “Not much. Just some small talk about alchemy, and that his lifelong dream was about to come true. He seemed very happy about it.”

For a moment, Edward seemed to snap to attention, a look of surprise—then, what, guilt? Sadness? Longing? —flashing across his face. Alphonse didn’t know what to make of it. Of anything involving his brother or father. He missed the simplicity of his mother, of being a child again.

“I see,” was all Alphonse said.

“Miss Izumi! Miss Izumi!” a young girl called, her voice carrying through the streets with a sense of urgency. 

Alphonse was grateful for it since it meant no more sparring or showing off alchemy with Teacher. He loved that woman, but man, his muscles were aching to the bones. Edward was just as relieved.

A little girl poked her head into the garden gate. She spotted Izumi immediately, barely paying attention to anyone else, except to skirt around Sig nervously. With the girl was an entourage of kids her age. Friends or classmates (or both, but Al had never really been friends with anyone from his school other than Winry, so the two were firmly different in his mind). 

“What is it?” Izumi asked, voice shifting into a soft, maternal tone. She used it more than she would admit; Alphonse could remember talking to them after training like that often. Really, Izumi was soft deep down, but no one dared call her out on it. That was suicidal. 

“My kitty,” the girl said, revealing a still creature in her tiny hands. She lifted it up towards Izumi. “My kitty is broken; can you fix it? Mama says you're good at fixing things.”

Izumi’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. A sad smile slipped onto her face as she cupped the girl’s hands into her own. “I can’t fix it.”

“But—”

“You cannot bring back what is already gone, living creatures don’t work the same way as objects do,” Izumi explained. “But I can help you bury him, is that alright?” 

The girl sniffled, tears beginning to flow as she gave a nod.

They stood back a bit from the small grave, laid with wildflowers and small rocks, as the kids worked through their grief. It was a sombre affair; Al wished he were better at comforting children, but there was also a lesson to be learned here, he supposed—on how to deal with loss. Even if that loss was only a kitten. 

As the sun began to set, Sig led the children back towards town, to their families. Izumi stayed with the brothers on the hill, as they admired the scenery and tried not to think too hard about Trisha’s funeral.

Or, at least, that was what Alphonse was reminded of; Edward’s mind was a continued enigma for him.

“...you committed the taboo, didn’t you?” Izumi said—because really, despite the inflection, it wasn’t much of a question. She knew the answer clear as day. “You have automail like your brother now, don’t you, Al?”

“Yes,” Al murmured. He stared at the ground, guilt eating at him. He had promised but then—he had lied. To his brother, to Izumi. Told them he’d never do anything so foolhardy like attempt human transmutation on his own. Told them he had moved on from his mother’s death. Lies, lies, all lies. Lies that ate at him late at night.

Izumi pulled him and Edward into a small hug. “You fools,” she said. “After all I said you still tried—”

“I’m sorry,” Alphonse began, his voice cracking. “I… I just thought—”

“I’m sorry,” Edward said, “I should have been watching him closer, but I—”

“I know,” Izumi replied. She gripped them tighter, hands carding through their hair. “I know.”

Izumi yelled at them after that, and they had been let go as her students. All in all, it could have been worse. And honestly, they still enjoyed her company, so they had managed to weasel themselves back into her house to stay a little longer.

* * *

It was silent in the graveyard. The place was old, built in the 16th century, back when the land was still part of Aerugo and the now dissolved kingdom of Galena. 

Not every gravestone was as old, as families liked to keep their dead together, but years of weather and war aged the headstones all the same.

A soft wind blew. Edward was staring at a grave, nearly a blank slate under the moss and years of erosion. An old family friend, Edward had said, and nothing more.

Izumi accompanied him. She knew some of the families buried here anyways, and she did find the grassy hills and ancient trees made the place rather beautiful. There had been marshlands there, once, but the river that fed it had dried up long ago. 

Izumi was silent as they paid their respects. 

Questions itched at her throat. Ed and Al were thick as thieves. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him one on one since they had arrived. 

As they walked towards the gate, Izumi found herself unable to keep quiet any longer. 

“Edward… I’ve always been meaning to ask… you don’t need a transmutation circle for alchemy, much like me,” Izumi began. Edward didn’t meet her eyes as he kept walking. 

He probably had always been dreading this conversation. Before, Izumi had been hesitant to broach the subject, not wanting to dredge up bad memories. Even now she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, to press at a long-healed wound. But she needed to know, to understand. To help them heal better, this time, like a bone rebroken to set it right.

Plus, part of her hesitance to pry had been born from the fact that Edward had joined her crusade to try and keep Al from performing human transmutation. Had he not, she would have interrogated him long ago. To keep Al safe, if nothing else.

Now that fact didn’t matter.

“Yes.” His voice was tight. Usually he brushed off her questions, about his parents, his age, where he was born, but he was as aware as Izumi was that it was futile for this one. She knew, after all, what it took to gain a skill like that.

“You’ve seen the Truth then, haven’t you?” Izumi asked, voice softening for a moment. “...what happened?” She was eying his automail arm. A reasonable guess, considering Alphonse. 

“...it’s complicated, I don’t really like talking about it,” Edward replied, still looking ahead, away from her. Even with his back to her, she could see it: there was a war in his mind. Guilt swirling in his tone, torn between honesty and keeping a secret he clearly held close to his chest. “...It involved something that happened a long time ago, with Hohenheim.”

Izumi frowned, her body tense. “I see.” She left it at that. Oh, if she _ever_ saw Hohenheim again, she was gonna give him a piece of her mind.

* * *

Edward felt bad for not telling her but… it was a lot. He knew she cared for them—especially Alphonse—a lot. It was nice; he really did appreciate her, she had been tough but kind, sharing her home and knowledge with them. He felt so cruel, rewarding that with secrecy. But by now, Edward was more than used to meeting such kindness with a brick wall. 

It didn’t make it much easier, however.

They left a few days later. Alphonse lamented about having to work on his assessment for the military, though Edward was still of the mind that he ought to not bother getting his license renewed; they didn’t _really_ need the military, right? Alphonse disagreed, as always.

Despite the earlier grievances, it was a sombre goodbye. “You two should visit more often,” Izumi said, her maternal self back in full force. “Or at least call.”

“...yeah, yeah, we probably should,” Alphonse murmured. “I’m sorry. I… we... I was just scared, I guess, of your reaction. I’m sorry.” 

Izumi sighed. “While it’s good you have the self awareness to know when you’re an idiot, there’s no need to treat me like a monster, y’know? I just care, is all. I worry.” 

Alphonse’s lips twitched into a sad smile. “Right. We’ll call then, for sure,” he said, waving them goodbye. 

“Ah!” Edward snapped his finger, turning to face Izumi and Sig for a moment. “Hey, you two travel a lot, yeah?” Izumi gave a nod, clearly confused by the sudden interest. Edward continued, saying, “Have you ever considered heading out to another country? I hear Xing is beautiful.” 

Izumi blinked, glancing up at Sig in question. He was as lost. “We’ll think about it,” she said, “thanks, Ed.”

“You should. I think a break from this country for a while would be nice, especially in the spring,” Edward replied, turning away with a lazy wave. 

He said nothing as he boarded the train, ignoring Alphonse’s questioning glances as the sounds of the engine lulled him into a light sleep.

* * *

While their trip to Dublith hadn’t been especially fruitful, it had still been nice to see Teacher again. Plus, now that she knew what Alphonse had done, he felt like he had a weight off his shoulders. Despite her anger at them… it had been a revitalizing visit.

But now it was time to return to Central in hopes of finding out more about how they could help people—and about what was going on with the military. Who orchestrated the stuff in the fifth laboratory? Who had those people with the ouroboros tattoo been? Those thoughts had been itching at the back of his mind since he had left. Not to mention whatever was up with Brother…

But first—Rush Valley. Some maintenance on their automail wouldn’t hurt, and to check on Winry’s new apprenticeship.

* * *

“Al, did you find another stray cat or something?” Edward said, sipping at his drink. “You know we can’t keep it—"

“Well,” his brother began, “sort of?” Alphonse moved to the side, pointing at a _body._ Edward jumped, before realising _oh good_ , he was alive. But of course, now they were gonna have to help the poor sap, weren’t they?

“Out cold, huh,” Edward said dryly, regarding the man—boy? —in disinterest. His clothing looked Xingese. 

“Looks like it,” Alphonse replied, moving to pick him up. 

“Al, put that back where you found it!” Edward scoffed, chewing on his straw. They didn’t need to deal with some annoying stray. He was probably just some tourist anyways. Who was stupid enough to come to a country soaked in the blood of war anyways?

“How can you be so mean, brother!” Alphonse snapped, and soon enough he was slinging the poor boy over his shoulder. Edward groaned, regretting how strong his brother had gotten since joining the military; he honestly hadn’t been expecting Alphonse to be able to carry the kid. If Al had asked for his help, it would’ve been a strict no.

“You’re a menace,” Edward said, ignoring Alphonse’s yells about how Edward was the _real_ menace. 

“Wow! I feel alive again, never better—you guys saved my life! Thanks for the meal, I was starving,” the boy said, laughing boisterously. Edward twitched. It was more obvious now that the kid was around Alphonse’s age now that he was up and talking, and _boy_ was he already getting on Edward’s nerves. 

“I never said anything about treating you,” Edward said dryly, staring at the stacks of dishes around their outdoor table. Even pedestrians were glancing their way. _Great._

“ _Edward_ ,” Alphonse hissed, kicking him under the table. “Be nice.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” the Xingese boy laughed, slapping the table like Edward had just told a hilarious joke.

“Don’t call me small!” Edward snapped, earning himself another kick from Alphonse. 

“I never expected to find such kindness so far from home, I am humbled by your generosity,” the boy continued, like Edward had never even spoken.

“Ah, you’re not from here?” Alphonse remarked. Edward bit back a comment about how the boy’s clothing and accent clearly shouted _‘FROM XING’_ as loud as possible; while Alphonse was well travelled within Amestris, it was hostile to other countries. Al thusly had never learned much about Xing—of which Amestris had limited contact with, especially when their borders were separated by a vast desert, by a ghost town.

“Was it hard crossing the desert?” Alphonse asked, clearly enraptured by this boy. Edward grimaced; he hoped Al didn’t have a crush, that would make getting this kid off their backs impossible. Al was difficult to separate from things he liked. It was the reason him trying to take stray cats home was such a problem, after all.

The boy just continued to laugh. “Hard is an understatement,” he began, drawing a crude map in the dirt. “With the railroad buried in sand, I had to brave the desert by horse and camel.” Alphonse’s eyes were practically sparkling. _Great._

“Why’d you cross the desert, anyways, instead of taking a route through the ocean?” Edward asked, raising his eyebrow. “It’s easier, and a little less dangerous, not to mention there’s basically nothing in that desert area; it’s why no country wants to claim it.”

“Well, there is _something_ , see, I wanted to see the ruins of Xerxes on my way!” the Xingese kid said.

Edward’s eyes widened, even so slightly. _Xerxes_ … But the expression faded quickly. “Xerxes?” he said. “I heard there’s not much there.” Just ruins, jutting out of the sand like bones, a grim reminder of the past.

“Not even much involving that legend about it being destroyed in a single night,” Alphonse murmured, luckily too busy staring at his _new_ friend to notice Edward’s unease.

“Are you a tourist?” Edward asked, leaning forward. Amestris didn’t get too many tourists; being at constant war didn’t make it very appealing to outsiders. 

“No, I’m here to gather information. Particularly about this country’s alkahestry!” the boy explained. 

“Alkahestry?” Alphonse parroted. 

“It’s a type of alchemy from Xing, descended from a medicinal practice,” Edward explained, adding to the map the boy had drawn. “It’s primarily a difference caused by culture, since Amestris is a military state and puts the needs of force first, so our alchemy is more based on creating things useful for that, like weapons and supplies, than with caring for the ill or injured.”

He went on, giving the Xingese boy a quick lesson on Amestris’s relationship with her neighbours. It was a warning if anything—this country was not a safe one. “But war has only become more central to our way of life since Fuhrer King Bradley came into power,” Edward finished.

“What a tough country,” the boy said. “But you know a lot about alchemy and alkahestry, it seems, are you alchemists?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, we are, I’m Alphonse Elric and this is my older brother Edward,” Al said, practically bouncing in his seat. “Maybe if we weren’t so military based, maybe our alchemy could have been more focused on helping people too.” Edward knew that glint in Al’s eye—he was determined to learn all he could about Alkahestry to carry out his wish to help people—especially people like Nina, _if_ it was ever needed again.

The boy grinned. “How lucky am I to meet such talented sounding people,” he said, shaking both their hands enthusiastically. “My name is Ling Yao! It’s an honour to meet you both!”

“Do you think you could teach us about Alkahestry, perhaps even show us?” Alphonse asked, grinning at Ling. 

“Afraid not,” Ling laughed, “I don’t know how.”

Edward sputtered, too shocked himself to feel upset about Alphonse’s crestfallen face. “Then why are you even here to learn about alchemy?” 

Ling leaned on his arm, his index finger tapping against his temple. “I’m looking for something,” he said, tone dripping with a dark seriousness that had not been there before. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it. The philosopher’s stone.”

Edward froze, his heart thumping loud in his chest. A quick glance at Al showed he was anxious too, but hiding it well.

Ling’s dark irises met Edward’s gold. “I’m dying to get my hands on it. Know where I might find it?”

Edward shook his head, his body finally remembering how to function. “Nope. Can’t say I do, it’s a legend after all. Well…” He stood up, dusting off his pants. “Guess that’s all there is to say then, see ya.” 

“Not so fast,” Ling said. With a _snap_ from his fingers, something cold and sharp pressed up against Edward’s neck. Out of the corner of his eye he made out a dark shape; someone behind him, and another figure behind Alphonse. Both brandishing weapons.

 _Ah._ So, this was the game he was playing. Edward had a feeling that Ling might have even known they were alchemists from the start, the whole situation nothing more than a ploy to talk to them. And he had fallen for it, hook line and sinker, all because he couldn’t put his foot down against his baby brother.

Great.

(Nevermind that he never would have truly let someone starve to death. He was not cruel.)

“Clearly you know more than your letting on,” Ling said, “since I’ve heard you two are somewhat famous. Tell me more, _please._ ”

Edward regarded the knife— (a kunai perhaps? He had never been well versed in Xingese weapons)—at his neck with a disinterested face. He was more worried about the sword directed at Alphonse, but he also had learned the hard way not to underestimate his brother. After all, despite all his experience, Ed still hadn’t beat him during spars. 

Edward stared Ling down. “Why do you want the stone?” he asked, gold meeting black with a glare. 

Ling grinned. “Isn’t it obvious?” he began. “I want to become immortal.”

“What a load of crap,” Edward said, slipping into his ‘ _Alphonse as your older brother I am disappointed in you’_ voice. 

“I’m quite serious,” Ling replied. He certainly sounded it, compared to before. 

“Is this your idea of manners? Interrogating people at knife point? Well, I won’t be having it—” Edward swung behind him. He had been hoping to knock the man behind him off balance. To his surprise, his arm hit nothing but air. The masked man had jumped. _Xingese martial arts_. Suddenly, Ed wished he had taken more of an interest in them before.

“Ed, we don’t have to fight!” Alphonse called, but his words fell on deaf ears as Edward got a nice kick to the face.

Ed hit the ground before his brain could decipher what had even happened. Dammit. He knew Al was talking with his masked friend, but much like Edward, soon was on a heap in the dirt beside him.

“Those damn Xingese martial arts,” Edward muttered, Al groaning in agreement. “But—”

“They aren’t as tough as our teacher,” Alphonse finished, getting to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Separating the two masked fighters had been the first course of action. Ed trusted Al enough to know he could handle himself, and since they didn’t know how well the two warriors worked as a team, keeping them apart seemed to be a safe bet for the time being.

The fight had been going well, especially since Ling had seemed to keep out of it.

Initially, anyways, until Edward found himself face to face with that smug asshole—just as he had figured out the weakness to his current enemy: the masked man hated Ling being insulted. 

“Dammit,” Edward swore, backing off from Ling—only for the Masked Guy to take a swipe at him. Edward bailed off the roof, landing in a heap on the dirt below, otherwise uninjured. He had learned the hard way how to break a fall, once upon a time.

Al was still gone. It was just Edward himself, Ling, and the masked asshole. Ling didn’t seem to be a fighter, but it didn’t make the sword now resting on his back anymore reassuring. 

“Now that we’re alone,” Ling said, standing over them like a king watching his court jester. “I have a question for you.” 

Edward struggled to even glance at him between his new friend’s barrage of attacks. Well, Ed _had_ been trying to piss the dude off, and pissing people off was something he did very well. Too well, maybe. “Kinda busy!” Edward called, glaring up at Ling. “If you didn’t notice!” 

“Right. Lan Fan stand down for a moment,” Ling ordered. Edward watched as the Masked Guy—Lan Fan—nodded, feinting an attack as he pulled back, joining Ling in his perch above.

Edward glared up at them, half considering just going up there to beat their asses anyways. “What do you want? We already told you we don’t know anything about the philosopher’s stone or immortality.”

“Ah, but I think you do,” Ling replied, voice cheery. “I thought I would ask only you, though, since I think you’re keeping something secret for a reason, right?” 

“What?” Edward said, eyes widening a little. They _couldn’t_ know—

“Tell me,” Ling began, voice deadly serious. His gaze was piercing, as though looking into Edward’s very soul. “How many people do you have inside of you?”

“Wh-what?” Edward choked out. 

“Lan Fan, Fu, and I are all trained in sensing chi, the energy of living beings—and everyone has that energy in them—”

“Like their soul,” Edward said.

“Sure, sure. But you? You… you’re—”

“Like a hive of souls, all buzzing?” Edward cut in, his lips twitching. 

Ling seemed to consider his words. “I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way, but yes. What _are_ you?” 

“Like hell I’m gonna tell a weirdo like you,” Edward replied, clapping his hands to transmute himself a nice one-way ticket to the roof the two were on. “Like we said, we ain’t tellin’ you shit!” 

“Lan Fan!” Ling called, as he jumped back from Edward’s attack. Edward pivoted quickly, recovering from the missed attack with ease. He moved for Lan Fan, finally getting his palm over the guy’s mask to shatter it, revealing— “A girl?” he said dumbly—and in just in time to finally notice the grenade she had pulled the pin out of.

Uh oh. 

* * *

The smoke took awhile to settle. Ling stared at the ruins of the storehouse. In the rubble, was Edward’s metal arm, rising out from it. 

“Oh no,” Lan Fan murmured. “I’m sorry, young lord, I think I overdid it…” 

“No. I don’t think we have to worry,” Ling replied. He moved to grab Edward’s arm.

“Huh?” Lan Fan said—and then she felt it. The energy that Edward had was still there—behind them, a trap—

Ling yelped, metal wire looping around him. A snare. It hoisted him up with ease, leaving him dangling in the rubble. 

Lan Fan moved; she was trained to deal with threats from behind. With practiced ease she drew her blade—its sharp edge sinking into Edward’s heart. 

Lan Fan gasped. She was used to protecting Ling from assassination. Deadly force was instinctive. But in this case—

She wasn’t supposed to kill him. She could only watch as the boy hit the ground, blood painting the stone. She stared down at the body in horror. It looked so small when it wasn’t trying so hard to fight them. 

For a moment, Edward’s chi—a giant, swirling mess that could be easily mistaken for a city—seemed to disappear. Only for a moment, before it returned in full force, invading her senses.

She couldn’t move. Not even as Edward’s fingers twitched, as his body seemed to be remembering what hers could not. His heart had stopped. She knew that much. And now he was sitting up, tearing the knife out of his own chest. The wound began to knit itself together, healing with a red light. On his flesh arm, too, were burn wounds from the bomb, disappearing as if they had never even graced his skin, and leaving him as untouched as before.

“I—” Lan fan started. 

“I knew it,” Ling grinned. Despite being captured like an animal, he looked like a cat who had gotten the mouse. “You’re immortal.” 

“Almost, yeah,” Edward replied, pushing himself up. “That hurt. You really need to be more careful, if that had been anyone else—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ling said, excited. “You’re exactly the person to help us to get immortality! How _lucky_ we are.”

Edward gritted his teeth. Immortality. What a load of bullshit. He was tired of hearing about people wanting it. “I’m not helping you. Fuck off.”

Ling’s smile didn’t even waver. “I’m not so sure about that,” he began.

“Oh, but I’m _very_ sure, thank you—” But before Edward could make his point any clearer, they got oh so rudely interrupted by the city folk of Rush Valley, mad about the damage Ed had caused.

Oops.

Before he knew it, Ed was being berated by them and his little brother, while Lan Fan, Ling, and their old man were nowhere to be seen. 

* * *

Rush Valley was an interesting city. There wasn’t anything like it in Xing, from what Ling knew. It made sense—Amestris’s entire culture was drenched in blood and tied to war. People here lost limbs more often than in Xing, despite his own country’s troubles.

So, he supposed, an entire town whose main draw was automail was the logical conclusion to a prologue of violence. It was fascinating, really—and true to Amestris’s _other_ fame, finding a skilled alchemist had turned out to be easy. Getting their attention even more so. Certainly, didn’t help Edward stood out like a sore thumb.

Sure, the fight hadn’t turned out the best, but they could work with it. Fu and Lan Fan were unharmed. Regardless, if force wasn’t the way to get what he wanted, he was willing to try other methods. Ling was patient when he wanted to be.

The three of them were silent, just watching the bustling crowds on the streets below them. Likely all trying to think of the next plan of attack—there was no way they were going to let those two brothers slip away.

The wind rustled through Ling’s hair. It was warm here, in South Amestris, even as autumn was settling in. But there was some humidity, at least, unlike in the great desert. What a trip _that_ had been.

It wouldn’t be for nought if they found Edward and Alphonse again.

But first—

“Lan Fan, are you okay?” Ling asked, keeping his body language happy and casual. He didn’t want her thinking he was upset with her, after all. 

“Yes,” she answered. “I just…” She tugged at her collar, likely feeling exposed without her mask. Ah well. Alphonse and Ed were alchemists, they could make her a new one once they were friends. And they would be friends soon enough.

Ling turned to face her, ignoring the look Fu was giving them both. “If it’s about our new friend, he was fine,” Ling said, waving his hand dismissively. 

“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” Ling’s smile slipped off, replaced with a frown. Lan Fan’s mind was an enigma to him, even at the best of times, but he trusted her judgement regardless. Even if Fu didn’t.

Lan Fan was hesitant. “When he was healing…” She began. “Didn’t you feel it? It felt like… like some of that life energy just disappeared forever.” Lan Fan put her arms around herself, looking pale. “There’s something wrong about that boy.”

“...Yeah. I did,” Ling replied. He turned, staring at the rows of buildings once more. “Perhaps we ought to seek him and his brother out again.”

* * *

“Brother… what did you _do_?” Alphonse stared him down. As if the lecture about property damage wasn’t bad enough.

“What said I did this?” Edward huffed. He motioned to his broken automail arm, currently slung over his shoulder. 

“Everything about you,” Alphonse replied, shaking his head. “Also the transmutation marks. Winry’s gonna kill you.

“Yep. She is. It was nice knowing you, Al,” Edward said dramatically. He hunched over a little, looking resigned to his fate. 

Alphonse chuckled. The sound was like music to Edward’s ears, and despite his anxiety over what had happened with Ling, he felt more at ease. “Well, I’m glad you seem okay,” Alphonse said. “I saw blood on you, and I got scared—”

“Most of it isn’t mine,” Edward lied. He hated lying to Al, but it was like second nature to brush things off like that by now. “Not that I, uh, hurt anyone badly. Or anything. Flesh wounds and all that.”

“I see,” Al said, heading towards Garfiel’s shop. He seemed to be in a hurry (he was likely tired, especially after fixing Edward’s messes) but Edward kept up his leisurely pace. He wasn’t in a hurry to face Winry’s wrath at his stupidity. 

But there was no avoiding it, so he was soon dragging himself into the shop. Edward gave a long sigh, his eyes slipping closed for a moment as he mentally prepared himself for her (justified, honestly) anger. “Hey, Winry—”

There, sitting with the girl he had watched grow up alongside his brother, with his precious childhood friend—there, drinking tea with her, was one Ling Yao. Ling Yao, who had an idea of what kind of monster Edward was, who would have _killed_ him if he had been anything else.

Oh. Oh no, Ed wasn’t going to let this slide. “What are _you_ doing here?” he demanded, getting into Ling’s space. Ed wanted to slap him. Preferably with what was left of Winry’s hard work. Hard. 

“Just visiting. I wanted to finish our talk that got interrupted,” Ling said cheerfully. “And Ms. Winry here was very welcoming.”

“Yeah, Ed, he’s a nice guy, what’s your prob—” Winry choked on her words. “What did you _do_ to my automail!?” She was on her feet in an instant, shaking Ed’s shoulders violently. “How could you do this? It wasn’t even that broken before—is that alchemy? Did you do this on _purpose?_ I’m going to kill you—”

“Now, now,” Ling said, chuckling at the scene. “It’s partially my fault, we got into a little scuffle.”

“ _Really_ ,” Winry deadpanned. “Ed, can you _not_ pick fights with people?” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s going to take some time to fix this now, but at least I have most of the parts—” She gave Alphonse a sharp look as she spoke. He merely smiled sheepishly. 

With a sigh, Winry walked off to the back room, muttering to herself about the repair work. “You’re gonna owe me for this!” she called as she disappeared behind the door. “And nice to meet you, Ling!”

That left Edward and Alphonse alone with Ling. 

“Now, you little—” Edward started, moving to grab Ling. The slippery brat managed to evade him, going over to Alphonse. 

“Fu told me about how easily you took him down,” Ling was saying, getting right into his little brother’s space. Oh. _Oh_ , he was going to kill this kid. “I’m really impressed!” 

“Oh, uh, well, I um, I had help from Paninya and all,” Alphonse stammered, slightly flushing.

“Still, it was your plan, it seems like,” Ling replied, before grabbing his hands. “And Ms. Winry told me how you’re a state alchemist for the Amestrian Military, correct? It really was a pleasure to meet you!” Ling shook Al’s hands enthusiastically. “She seemed to have a lot to say about you, so I’m glad to have met such an exceptional alchemist, and so kind too!”

Alphonse was blushing heavily now, clearly embarrassed by all the praise. 

Edward marched over. “Okay, okay, enough. You need to _leave_ ,” he hissed, grabbing Ling’s shoulder, squeezing it tight. 

Ling turned to look at Edward. That serious look was back on his face. “No,” he said. “We still need to talk about how you’re im—”

Edward cut him off. “<No. We do not need to have this discourse,>” he said, slipping into Xingese. It had been years since he had spoken it last, so he hoped it was understandable. It still felt natural, at least to him. 

Ling smirked at him. Edward wanted to knock that damn look off his face. “<Your Xingese.... Do you know more than one dialect, or did you get lucky with knowing the one I know?>” he asked, folding his arms. His finger tapped his chin for a moment. “<Of course,>” he added, “<You sound like an old novel, like my mother used to read, yet, you speak it so smoothly and naturally. Curious.>”

Alphonse glanced between the two, confused. “Brother?” 

Ed’s eyebrows twitched. He was sure if he hadn’t been around Al and Winry so much, even his Amestrian would sound old—but he hadn’t been to Xing in what, over fifty years? Language changed over time, he knew, but damn was it annoying.

At least Xerxian would stay the same forever now.

“<I am sure you can assess why. Withdraw from this country, it is dangerous. I am not going to inform you of anything involving immortality. There is nothing we can give to you. Leave,>” Edward hissed, glaring at Ling.

“<So, you don’t age either?>” Ling guessed, getting up into Edward’s space as well. Did the kid have _no_ idea what a personal bubble was? “<Amazing—wait. You’ve been to Xing, correct? How long ago?>”

“<Is it important?>” Edward replied.

“<Well, it’s your hair, and your eyes…>” Ling said, watching as Edward’s eyes widened in realisation. “<It fits the stories I’ve heard, about the Western Sage and his son, who taught alchemy to the people of Xing. The same alchemy that eventually morphed into alkahestry.>” Ling’s smirk split into a grin. “<A man from the desert with gold hair and gold eyes, his child the same but with unnatural limbs, who are believed to be the last survivors of the Xerxian people—who are believed to be perfect beings, to be potentially immortal—and you _are_ —!>”

Edward stepped back. He knew, had always known, about the stories. He had ignored them, foolishly shoved them to the back of his mind. He didn’t like being mythologized like that. When he was younger, when he was truly a teenager, he had once craved fame for his alchemy. Now he was fine with relative obscurity. 

The stories always made him uncomfortable; they hit too close to home, reminded him of the sin his father and he had been involved in. He _hated_ it. He was no sage, no perfect person—he was just a human, a human with terrible luck who had found himself a monster by pure chance. A human who still struggled with being a good older brother, despite his years of experience. A human who just wanted to help, despite all of humanity's faults. 

Then there was the story of the Eastern Sage he heard so often in Amestris; knowing he had anything in common with that _homunculus_ always made him feel sick.

“<Leave,>” Edward said, voice dark. “Leave right now, I don’t want—just go.”

“Edward…” Alphonse murmured, reaching over to his brother’s flesh and blood shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Edward ignored him. “Why do you want the stone, anyways?” he pressed.

“Immortality, didn’t I already say?” Ling replied. “Did Lan Fan hit you that hard?”

Edward scoffed. “Ugh, okay, no, let me try that again: _why_ the immortality?” 

“Well, you see, I’m a prince—” Ling began.

“What?!” That was Alphonse, but Ed paid him no mind, especially once he dissolved into giggles for some reason. Weird. Perhaps it was a cultural thing. Edward knew what a prince meant in Xing, but it was different out in the west, different in Amestris where their leader had always been military. 

Ling waved his hand dismissively. He didn’t seem to understand Al’s reaction either. “I’m a prince of Xing, but it doesn’t mean much; after all, there’s 23 other princes and 19 princesses—all descended from one of the 50 clans that make up Xing.” He paused, mostly letting Al settle down. “The king has been weakening in his old age and has offered the throne to anyone who can stop his fear of death from coming true.”

“So that’s it, then? It’s just for a bid of power?” Edward surmised.

“But why do you think we can help you?” Alphonse asked, frowning.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ling said, that damn smile on his face again. Ed hoped his face was getting sore from all the smiling. “You’re apparently a renowned state alchemist, after all, and your brother—”

“<I am not a part of this>,” Edward hissed.

“Seems to be keeping things from you, I see,” Ling said, leaning on his fist as he took a seat once more. 

“...huh?” Al replied, glancing over at Edward warily. When had Al’s eyes gained such a suspicious look to them? Had he missed that?

“Well, it’s not really my place, I suppose,” Ling laughed, knowing damn well he was playing them. Trying to guilt Edward into talking about it. And dammit, it was working—Edward couldn’t handle having Alphonse’s distrust.

Realisation hit Alphonse like a wave. “Wait—” He said, turning to Ling. “Immortality. And you think my brother—is that why I don’t know your age?” Alphonse asked, face desperate.

“What?” Ed said dumbly, shaken by Alphonse’s reaction. Age? 

“Your _age,_ brother! I don’t know it, you never told me and Granny doesn’t know and Winry and Teacher—” Alphonse continued. “And the photos. The _photos_ —”

Shit. Right. A part of Ed hated the invention of photographs. Sure, the chemistry behind it fascinated him, and he loved watching technology and science evolve. He loved the idea of being able to capture memories just as they were. But there was one downside: it exposed his lack of aging, even more than Hohenheim’s. 

He knew this was coming. And he knew that this was his fault, for keeping up the lie for so long. He should have told Al years ago; there was no way he’d be blissfully ignorant of Ed’s lack of aging forever. Winry too. 

Edward couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just so used to not—not telling people, and keeping it secret, and dad never liked to talk about it and—you never asked even though I kept expecting it to come up and—” He sucked in a deep breath, trying to quell the guilt consuming his heart. “Get Winry. I think she should know too.”

Alphonse frowned, giving a curt nod as he too disappeared into the back room.

“I guess you can stay too to hear this, but I’m only telling you this to get you off my back, _got it_?” Edward said, pointing at Ling’s face. 

“Of course,” he replied, but he was still smiling. Edward wanted to punch it off.

“And I hope you’ll understand the gravity of immortality after this,” Edward hissed. He turned around, moving to close the shutters of the shop. It was a slow day, all things considered, so he figured Garfiel wouldn’t mind. 

Winry and Alphonse were back when he finished. “Ed?” Winry said, blinking as she took a seat by Ling. “Something wrong? Alphonse said it was important.”

Edward sighed, tugging at his braid. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He wanted to run away and never come back just so he wouldn’t have to see their reactions. But they deserved to know. He loved them more than anything, and they deserved the truth. This was his own fault; for lying to them, for pretending they were too stupid to not have noticed.

Alphonse leaned against the table, watching Edward with calculating eyes. 

“It is. You know how Granny is always saying I’m older than I look?” he began, watching as Winry’s mouth pressed into a line. Yeah, she _had_ noticed his lack of aging too then, but had chosen to not say anything. Trusting him to tell them, like Alphonse probably had. And he had planned on not doing that; how awful was he? These people trusted him, and he was keeping so much from them… Things that could affect their very safety and sanity. 

This really did need to change. He hated that it took that annoying prince to spring him into action, instead of wallowing in his guilt and fear.

“Yes,” she said.

“...Well, I mean, it is true. Al was asking how old I am, and the answer is,” he began, humming for a moment as he thought, counting in his head for a moment “like, 425?”

“Years?” Alphonse repeated. “But that’s—How?” He glanced at Winry; their shock mirrored on each other’s faces. Ling just appeared pleased.

Edward leaned against the wall of the automail shop. He sucked in a breath through his nose, _1, 2, 3_ , and out through his mouth, _1, 2, 3_ … “Well…” he traced his hand over the metal of his automail port in thought, eyes on his feet. Where to begin? What to say?

Edward lifted his head, meeting eyes with his brother. “Al…” he began, swallowing. 

“Do you remember the story of Xerxes?”

**Author's Note:**

> Annnd that's it for chapter 1. I kinda got tired of editing it, ADHD is a doozy, so I hope there's not major mistakes. The chapter title and fic title are from a translation of the first opening, Again by YUI.
> 
> I'm excited for ch 2, which I had a lot of fun with in regards to worldbuilding and OCs. I can't say when it'll be done, but the first draft is about 90% finished. See you then! Thanks so much for reading <3 I'd love to hear your thoughts (especially on the length on this chapter. Is it too long?? I don't mind chopping things up a bit if its easier to read!!) and any and all support is greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Check me out on [ tumblr ](https://darkmagiciangirl.tumblr.com/)and [instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/anodyneavian/)


End file.
